3WW: Abandon, Gradually, Precise

Must abandon wheat,
not gradually but now.
My body hates it.
EATING PRECISELY FOR MY BLOOD TYPE
My hunger hates this.
I’ll gradually adjust.
Goodbye most loved wheat.

Sunday Scribblings: Recipe and Poem

Growing up in a Catholic family meant no meat on Fridays. It seems that about eighty percent of our meals on that night consisted of a sauce my mom would make with some kind of fish. It was sort of like Tuna Wiggle but my mom didn't put peas in and she used a variety of canned seafood. It was pretty simple and we just called it Sauce.


Sauce

2 cups milk
2 tblsp. butter
salt and pepper
2 tblsp. corn starch
2 cans of tuna, and/or shrimp, and/or crabmeat, and/or salmon

1. Pour milk into a sauce pan.
2. Add the butter and salt and pepper
3. Bring to almost a boil.
4. In the mean time, mix the corn starch with ¼ cup of water
5. When the milk is almost boiling, stir in the corn starch mixture
6. Cook and stir until thick and bubbly
7. Add seafood
8. Serve over toast or mashed potatoes with a veggie on the side.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sauce

Family love
pours over us
filling in
our nooks
and crannies

sometimes whether
we want it to or not.
Our only telephone
perched on the wall
barely two feet
from my dad’s
place at the table.

When it rang
that Friday night
during supper,
I jumped up to answer.
“Hey, listen” said
my date for that night.
“I’m up at Flint’s
blowing my mind.
You want to meet
me at the dance?”

“If I’m there, I’m there.
If I’m not, I’m not.”
I responded and hung up.

All eyes stared,
all ears perked up.
I hadn’t even been out
with this guy, yet,
and, already, I’d have
to lie to my parents?

They sat there
expecting an explanation.
The phone rang again,
a slight reprieve.
“Hey, listen, you
want to go to the movies
instead? I’ll pick
you up.”

Acceptable.
I relayed that
and heads nodded,
eating resumed,
normal banter
flew back and forth
again.

He met my parents
as they were on their way
out to go bowling,
played a game of cribbage
with my brother,
then we walked
to the theater,
watched The Taming
of the Shrew,and returned home
to have hot
chocolate with my folks
and sister.

Conversation and smiles
drifted around
like the steam
wisping from our cups.

It was just another
Friday night,
another connection
of family,
another meal
of sauce
spreading it’s comfort.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And in case you're wondering, the guy liked it so much at our house that we ended up getting married and we'll be celebrating our 39th anniversary in June.

Poetry Train: Homecooked Poems

A couple weeks ago, ReadWritePoem challenged us to write 5 poems about one subject so I remembered back to when I was a kid and the comforting foods my mom would make so I wrote five poems about memories of eating those foods.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

1) Chinese Pie

We grew up eating this about once a month but, when my son was going to school in Florida, a friend of his had never heard of it so it might not be as well known as I thought.

1. Peel, dice, and cook about 5 potatoes. When they are soft, mash them with butter and milk.
2. Saute about a quarter cup of onions in olive oil then add a pound of hamburg and saute them together.
3. Open a can of creamed corn.
4. In a casserole dish, layer the meat/onion mixture, the creamed corn, and top with the mashed potatoes.
5. Bake for a half hour or so or until bubbly.

Chinese Pie

My mother is mashed potatoes,
the cotton batting
of our family,
covering us
like a blanket.

So, on this night
when Nancy
starts laughing
when my brother
is getting hell

our father sends
her outdoors
until she can
control herself.

I face the window
and can see Nancy’s
face as she looks
in at us. She opens
her mouth
filled with corn
and hamburg

and lets it overflow
out onto her chin.
I try to ignore her
but can feel
myself beginning
to laugh. I pick
up my milk

and clamp my mouth
on the rim
but there is Nancy
making faces
in the window. I
guffaw and milk
splatters everywhere.

My dad throws down
his napkin
and retreats
to the living room
and the news.

My mom opens the door
for Nancy. We clean
up the mess. My mom
gives each of us
a hug.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

2) Graham Cracker Cake


1. Whip a pint of whipping cream until it starts getting thick.
2. Add about a ½ cup of sugar and keep whipping
3. Add about 2 tablespoons of powdered chocolate and keep whipping.
4. Then put a graham cracker on a dish and spread some of the whipped cream on it.
5. Continue layering the crackers with the cream until it’s about 3 inches high.
6. Use the rest of the whipped cream to frost the sides and pile it on top.


Graham Cracker Cake

The building
of children
is like erecting
a Graham Cracker cake
one careful layer
at a time.

Our kitchen table
was round
and I sat
next to my dad
the perfect place
for the first born
the one with his blue
eyes and curls.

Conversation twisted
in and around
like the scents
of the food
we were rapidly
devouring.

As a fifth-grader
I was the expert
on all things
and if I didn’t know
the answer,
my dad did.

Then Timmy asked
a question
and I opened my mouth
to show off
that I knew
the simple
answer

but my dad
answered first
and he was wrong.
I closed my mouth
and sat quietly
my heart
a crippled bird.

My mom brought
the dessert
to the table
and I noticed
that it was lopsided
and crooked.

I ate my piece
slowly
and wondered why
the whipped cream
tasted a bit sour.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

3) Whoopie Pies

Filling

1 cup milk
5 tbls. flour
1 cup sugar
1 tbls. vanilla
1 cup shortening

1. Cook milk and flour over medium heat until it forms a ball and then cool.
2. In a bowl put sugar, vanilla, and shortening. Mix
3. Add to cooked mixture. Cool.

Pies

½ cup cocoa
½ cup hot water
½ cup sour milk
2 eggs
1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup shortening
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 ¾ cups flour
¼ tsp. salt

1. Mix cocoa and hot water together.
2. Add the rest of the ingredients, mixing well.
3. Spoon onto a greased baking sheet in desired size.
4. Cook for 12 minutes at 350˚.
5. Cool before filling


Whoopie Pies

Nancy was our middle child
always second best,
bursting at the seams and wild.

Late for supper, full of guile,
feeling like a guest
even though she was our middle child.

My father’d sit at the table, riled,
“Do you have to be such a pest?
Why are you so wild?”

Nancy just sat there and smiled.
“Why can’t you be like the rest?”
She replied, “Because I’m the middle child.”

And there sat the whoopie pies piled
on a plate with the filling pressed
between the layers, bursting and wild.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

4) Sauce

Growing up in a Catholic family meant no meat on Fridays. It seems that about eighty percent of our meals on that night consisted of a sauce my mom would make with some kind of fish. It was sort of like Tuna Wiggle but my mom didn't put peas in and she used a variety of canned seafood. It was pretty simple and we just called it Sauce.

2 cups milk
1 tblsp. butter
salt and pepper
2 tblsp. corn starch
2 cans of tuna, and/or shrimp, and/or crabmeat, and/or salmon

1. Pour milk into a sauce pan.
2. Add the butter and salt and pepper
3. Bring to almost a boil.
4. In the mean time, mix the corn starch with ¼ cup of water
5. When the milk is almost boiling, stir in the corn starch mixture
6. Cook and stir until thick and bubbly
7. Add seafood


Sauce

Family love
pours over us
filling in
our nooks
and crannies

sometimes whether
we want it to or not.
Our only telephone
perched on the wall
barely two feet
from my dad’s
place at the table.

When it rang
that Friday night
during supper,
I jumped up to answer.
“Hey, listen” said
my date for that night.
“I’m up at Flint’s
blowing my mind.
You want to meet
me at the dance?”

“If I’m there, I’m there.
If I’m not, I’m not.”
I responded and hung up.

All eyes stared,
all ears perked up.
I hadn’t even been out
with this guy, yet,
and, already, I’d have
to lie to my parents?

They sat there
expecting an explanation.
The phone rang again,
a slight reprieve.
“Hey, listen, you
want to go to the movies
instead? I’ll pick
you up.”

Acceptable.
I relayed that
and heads nodded,
eating resumed,
normal banter
flew back and forth
again.

He met my parents
as they were on their way
out to go bowling,
played a game of cribbage
with my brother,
then we walked
to the theater,
watched The Taming
of the Shrew,then returned home
to have hot
chocolate with my folks
and sister.

Conversation and smiles
drifted around
like the steam
wisping from our cups.

It was just another
Friday night,
another connection
of family,
another meal
of sauce
spreading it’s comfort.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

5) Soup

1 chicken, turkey, or partridge carcass
onions
carrots
celery
basil
salt
pepper
spaghetti broken into thirds
1 can of stewed tomatoes

1. Throw a leftover chicken, turkey, or partridge (my father and brother were avid hunters) in a large pot.
2. Cover with water.
3. Dice the veggies and throw them in, too.
4. Bring to a boil and let simmer an hour or so until everything is tender.
5. Remove the carcass taking care to leave the veggies in the pot.
6. Take all the meat off and throw the rest away.
7. Return the meat to the water.
8. Bring back to a boil
9. Add dried basil, salt, and pepper to taste.
10. Add the spaghetti and boil until soft
11. Add the tomatoes.


Soup

On Sundays
we’d have our big
meal at noon
so supper
was a light affair.

On this Sunday
after Thanksgiving
we are having
my mom’s soup
and leftover rolls.

It’s a delicious soup
with onions,

(Hey Saltines,
do you wear a bra yet?”
Timmy asks Sally,
the youngest
and most sensitive.
A tear plops
into her soup.)

and sweet carrots

(“It’s okay, Sal.”
My mom puts
her arm around her.)

and meat

(My father bangs
the end of his fork
on the table,
fist around it.
“Why do you have
to make her cry
all the time?”
he says to Tim.)

and stewed tomatoes
to add a little color

(“Dad, can I use
the car to go to CCD?”
Little does he know
I’m really going
to pick up my boyfriend
for an hour of parking.
“Sure,” he says.
I smile,
that little bit of wild
red showing in my
personality.)

and salt and pepper and basil
for spiciness

(Nancy pipes up.
“I’ve kissed eight
different boys.”
My father shakes
his head.
Tim high-fives her.
My mom scowls.)

and strings of spaghetti
twirling around,

(“Whose turn
is it to wash
this week?”
“Pass the butter,
please.”
“Mom, can I go
to Rosie’s after school
tomorrow?"
“Hockey practice
starts this week
so I’ll be late.”
“Can you get
some more milk out?”
"Tim, Wanna
armwrestle?”
“I’ll clean up, now,
but dry the dishes
when I get back, okay?”)

and around
in the flavorful,
soup.

Dinner Party for Sunday Scribblings

The table is set
with Mom’s
dinnerware

you remember
the ones with
the gray roses

tipped with a blush
of pink to match
the tablecloth

slowly you begin
to materialize
first Dad

sniffing the air
to make sure
we’re not having

any spicy foods
Grampy marches in
ordering everyone

around then Nonie
(you are still so beautiful)
sits down gracefully

you hand me a plate
piled high
with donuts

and I can smell
the nutmeg
Memere and Pepere

enter quietly
like clouds and sunshine
smile, Memere!

Uncle Bob, distinguished
and Uncle George
rumpled,

drink in hand
take their places
we eat what we always

ate: fluffy mashed potatoes,
fresh string beans,
and a beef roast

we talk and laugh
and reminisce
just after the lemon

meringue pie
you start to dissipate
like the steam

rising from the coffee
cups I clean up,
do the dishes

and later nibble
on one of those
plain donuts.

Intersections for TOP

I couldn’t think of what to write about so when my husband turned the TV on, I decided to use the subject of the first two commercials: shampoo and cholesterol.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She starts with a special cleanser
for her face
then continues with an expensive shampoo
and conditioner.

Foundation, makeup, gel, mousse,
all follow
until the exterior package is polished
and perfect.

For breakfast she fries bacon and eggs,
toasts a white English muffin
then slathers it with real butter
and peanut butter.

And the little cholesterol nuggets waiting inside
get fat and smile.

for Richer or Poorer for Sunday Scribblings

Bills were balloons
inflated fatter
than our income.

Payday was a hungry
week away. The fridge
wasn’t empty

but contained
mostly condiments.
For supper

we broke
into the kids’
piggybanks

and bought hotdogs,
chips and dip, then
spread a blanket

in front
of the open-faced
woodstove,

cooked our dogs
on sticks,
and had a picnic.

Zest, Dissolve, & Trinket for 3WW

The Recipe

called for orange
zest so I took that sunshine
out of the fridge
and grated the rind
into rays.

Then I added it
to the batter
of flour, sugar,
zucchini, baking powder,
and orange extract.

Because I’m never satisfied
with a plain recipe,
I added trinkets
of walnuts.

After I baked it,
I cut it into slices
letting the steam
rise like ivy vines
around and over
and into my nose.
I buttered it,
and then…

I took a bite
of all that warmth
and let it dissolve
in my mouth.

Coffee for Sunday Scribblings

When I get older,
I'm going to drink
coffee.

Each morning
I see its diaphanous
flavor

wrapping itself around
the corners of our
house

forming curlicues
of warm, cozy
scents.

I see my husband
pour cream in and
stir

it into caramel swirls,
sit down, and
commune,

become one
with its
energy.

I've always heard
that it was bad for
women

with fibrocystic breasts
so never took up the
habit

except for a rare
decaf laced with
Bailey's.

But soon I'll be
old enough to drink
coffee

every morning
and all those curls
will

flow deliciously
into my
mouth.

Out of this World

for Sunday Scribblings March 30, 2008
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Start with French vanilla
ice cream. Scoop out
a good-sized moon
of it and let it mound

above the sides
of the bowl. Then
sprinkle stars
of walnuts all over.

After that drizzle
pure, light amber
maple syrup
like sun rays

over the whole thing.
Finally, let your spoon
orbit looking for a perfect
spot to land for an
out-of-this-world treat.

Rising

for Writers' Island March 11, 2008
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The corner store
ran out of the homemade
wheat bread
that my husband likes
so I decided
to make a loaf
for him.

I got a big bowl
out, the beige one
with the blue stripes
around the outside.
I added whole wheat
flour, sugar, salt,
yeast, honey, olive oil,
and water just warm
enough to feel warm.

I washed my hands,
took off my wedding
rings, and dove in,
mixing that gooey mess
until it was dough.

Then I floured
my counter top
and kneaded
and kneaded
that living heart
turning it into satin.

I took a clean
dishtowel and draped
it over
to let it rise
in the warm, humid
kitchen.

After an hour
I punched it down,
rolled it to fit
the loaf pan,
covered it again,
and let it rise
a second time.

When it crowned,
I put it in the oven.
There it rose
a third time
and turned golden,
its scent
permeating
our whole house,
our whole lives.

I sliced it
while it was still
hot and we
ate it,
butter
melting down
our chins.

Fridge Space

Sunday Scribblings February 10, 2008
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Strawberries

I saw them in the fruit
drawer, strawberries
red and freckled.

Left by my son’s
girlfriend after
their last visit.

Each day a splash
of summer in the snow
white fridge.

I kept meaning
to eat them, let their
sun shine in my mouth.

But a banana
doesn’t need to be washed
and trimmed

so I opted for the easy
and left the berries
to turn cloudy.

I saw those little mice
growing but I
left them there

and I have no idea why.
This weekend
Nathan and Amie

came to visit again
this time bringing
blackberries and blueberries.

I saw her open
the storage bin
and pause, wrinkle

her face, then reach
in, remove those gray
snowballs, and throw

them away. My face turned
as red as those strawberries
once were.